


The Year of Jubilee

by Ook



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Slavery, kink meme response
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>XMFC Kink meme prompt I have now lost. Anyone who recognises it- it asked for escaped slave Erik and Charles in a wheelchair- link me up? </p><p>In a slightly futuristic but still recogniseable world; society has changed to the point of allowing slavery again. After a lifetime of slavery Erik escaped and lived free. For a time. Now, sick and hungry, he stumbles across a recluse in a wheelchair while trying to steal food. They bargain. As the wary relationship develops; Erik must ask himself: </p><p>What is true freedom?<br/>What is true resistance?<br/>And, most importantly of all; what, or who is behind <i>Jubilee</i>, the semi-mythical helper of slaves?</p><p>As ever, WIP. Promise the others will get written, too. Promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jubilee the X-Man is not appearing in the Fic, ok?
> 
> The original jubilee is the year of the Lord's favour, (as mentioned in Isaiah 61) which came round once every fifty years; during this year all debts and loans were supposed to be forgiven, and all slaves and prisoners liberated. So I thought it would likely be a name a group or person opposed to slavery might use. And I like it. Apologies to Ms Lee.

Year of Jubilee.

It began, if these things could be said to have one, single beginning, in Spring. 

Erik had been on the run- successfully so- for most of the winter. Much as his hacking cough welcomed the slightly warmer weather, the longer, brighter days, and the increased presence of people in the landscape was not welcome to him. It was harder for Erik to move about unnoticed, harder for him to steal or scrape food and warmth unnoticed, in the softening springtime. The back of his neck started aching again, with his attempts to keep his chip away from the cams’ notice. Jubilee couldn’t do everything for the slaves it sought to liberate.

Maybe he should have headed to the city once he had managed to break free from the slavehold’s transport. There were more people in the city, and more tech, making it harder for him to conceal his chip and pass as a free-citizen, certainly, but there was also more food, and more opportunities to steal, or work cash-in-hand in a city. More medicines, too, he thought as he stifled his cough again. But there were enforcement officers in the city, too, and Concerned Citizens. Jubilee, it was said, advised escapees to head for the countryside, too.

Medicine was why he’d risked coming to this house; the largest in Westchester, and the most empty. Some kind of recluse lived there, that was all Erik knew, but he’d seen an ambulance there once, and he had a hope that, even if it was largely empty, people might have left the odd aspirin or other pill behind. His cough was getting worse; he had to have medicine for it or the cams wouldn’t have to detect and read his chip, to re-capture Erik- they’d hear his coughing and declare a medical emergency. Not even Jubilee could pull him out of that one.

Erik lay on his belly, ignoring the damp soaking into his clothes, and watched. 

There was a car, in the driveway, but it was a battered van, the sort a gardener or repair service might use. There was a name on it; Erik couldn’t read it. There was no security logo on it, though; so Erik stayed where he was. The house had no large hub cables going in; no power and service pipes hooked up either over ground or- Erik concentrated- under it, apparently. Only phone and power lines that had to be at least a hundred years old. So it was either an empty shrine to the past or registered as an unchangeable historical monument. 

Or the inhabitants were troglodytes, who didn’t want a tech-capable smarthouse, or ascetics, ditto. Erik didn’t really care; it would mean there was no AI observer, or smart anti-burglar devices to outwit. Hell, if they hadn’t left any medicine behind, if the place was empty, he might switch one of his night hideouts to here; even with the heating off, it would be warmer and drier than anywhere else available. He waited. Erik had a lot of patience, now, if nothing else.

Being owned by Sebastian Shaw had taught him that. Eventually, two men stomped out of the building, and climbed into their van, which rumbled away, growling like an old fashioned gas or diesel engine, rather than the discreet purr of a hybrid electric. Erik liked the older cars; he’d been allowed to learn how to fix some of them, and of course, they were pretty much mostly _made_ of metal parts. He cast his metalsense out now, as far as his mutilated powers would let him. No remote cams. No hidden security devices. Nothing.

Erik crept forwards. Nothing, no one threatening around. The dim early-evening light meant he was safe. Erik froze, at that thought. There was no such thing as _safe_. It was almost too easy, now. After a long, wary moment, he moved forwards again, until he had to stifle his coughing. Absently, as he watched, Erik noted that he was damp with sweat as well as ground water. He should have been freezing, but, if anything he was too warm. That wasn’t a good sign. Fever made him more visible on heat-imaging; slowed his reflexes and his brain.   
Plus, of course, it meant he felt more like crap than usual.

Inside would be drier and warmer. There might even be food, as well as medicine. _There might also be people_ Erik reminded himself, as he flattened himself under a window. The walls here were too thick, too old. Erik could sense nothing through them. Only the door revealed much to him. The door, with its old fashioned, _metal_ locks. Incredulous, Erik paused and rechecked. No movement monitoring circuitry, no shock-bots- just sturdy metal bars and chains. Well, he could deal with _those._

Inside, the house was quiet, and sheltering. Most of the furniture was covered in cloths- dust drapes, Erik thought- and had clearly been undisturbed for some time. At some point he noticed he had stopped clinging to corners and edging his way along the walls, like a thief, or a slave. He walked through the centre of the grand spaces, shoulders back; as if he had a right to be there. To be anywhere.

Erik paused in front of a bookcase, and stared at the real, printed paper books it held. He tilted his head; he couldn’t- of course- read any of the spines, but they looked. Well. Interesting. Nice old things. Better cared for than Erik had been, but, so what? A wave of anger shook him. That was the way of it, since the debt-slave legislation had come in, before he was born. Things, valuable things, were always more looked after than people. People were disposable.

Erik ghosted on. 

A sharp, smoky smell brought him back to full alertness. It smelt like overloaded circuits, burning electronics. Had those two men who’d left been fixing things or breaking them? There was a shuffling, dragging noise, and Erik stopped breathing. It came again, accompanied by a slight groan. Erik flicked his metal sense out. There was a crazy jumbled thing in the hallway outside the room he was in, some combination of metal and electricity Erik could not identify. Beyond it, further away, there was a belt, a pendant- a pocket with coins in- moving very slowly and very close to the floor. But no gun. No mace, no taser.

Erik slammed the door open, raced past a smoking heap of junk, and almost fell over the man crawling slowly away from it. He seized the man by shoulders and belt, spun him to face him, and dragged him up to eye height. Absently, Erik noticed that the other man’s toes were dangling off the floor. Good. It meant he’d be easier to loom over, if he was short.  
“You’re going to help me.” Erik growled out roughly. “Starting now. Are you alone?” The other man’s mouth opened, Erik shook his head, and shook him. The man-‘s brilliantly blue eyes darkened, but he closed his mouth again, and shook his own head. Erik relaxed a hair.

“Where’s the kitchen?” The man; pale, but not shaky, pointed down the hallway. He didn’t speak.  
“Smart of you. I like that.” Erik said. “Take me there.” And dropped him. The stranger folded up like a pack of cards, and didn’t get up. Erik frowned, and nudged him, not too hard, with one foot. “Get up.” The blue eyed man rolled over, and sat up, propping himself on his arms.   
“Get up.” He said, roughly. The other man made no attempt to stand. Erik frowned again, and reached down a hand to help him up. “I won’t hurt you, not if you co-operate.” The other man cocked his head and studied Erik for a second.

“Awfully kind of you.” He said, quietly. “But I’m rather afraid I can’t. Get up, that is.” He nodded at the heap of junk. “The gentlemen who left rather destroyed my personal transport.” Erik looked at the heap, and gradually, he realised, it was the brutalised remnants of an expensive powered chair.  
“My legs don’t really work anymore, you see.” He said, without a trace of self pity, or, given that he was helpless and in the presence of an angry and potentially violent burglar, fear.

Erik grunted, absorbing that information. Then he bent, and wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders, and lifted him up. He wasn’t very heavy.  
“Thank you, my friend.” The other man said, warmly. “Left here, please. I really wasn’t sure how-“  
“I’m not your friend.” Erik said, curtly, as they lurched into a pretty and clean kitchen. He glanced about, but could see no vid cams. “Also, I’m robbing you.” He added, in case the other man might not have realised.  
“Are you?” the other man said, interested. He smiled, warmly.

“In that case, I’m Charles. Charles Xavier. Good to meet you.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Good to meet you” Charles said, from his precarious position dangling on Erik’s shoulder, and moved his free hand in front of Erik’s face. Erik stared at the hand as he walked. He hadn’t previously thought he looked like a man who got, or gave handshakes. The hand waved again. Erik ignored it, dropping Charles into the nearest seat.  
“Well.” Charles said, in his smooth, smooth accent. “Thank you for that.” He looked supremely unruffled, for a man snatched from crawling along the floor by a burglar.

“Food.” Erik said. “Where’s your food?” He was so hungry, sick with it as well as the fever, he could barely think of anything else.  
“If you go through that door there-“ Charles pointed. “You’ll find the pantry. Also my old fold up wheelchair.” Erik stared at him for a long moment.  
“Look, if I tell you where the medicines are and the first aid kit is, will you pass me it?” Charles said, a little shortly.

“How do you know that’s what I wanted?” Erik said, suspiciously. Charles rolled his eyes.  
“Because you’re running a fever and have been coughing like a sick horse?” he said, dryly, before relenting. “Look, there’s some soup, at least, on the back of the stove, it should heat up-“  
Erik snatched the soup pot from the stovetop, and drank from it. The soup was cool, not quite cold, and it was the first thing he’d eaten in two days.

It was a light chicken based concoction, and Erik thought, vaguely, possibly the best thing he had ever tasted. He gulped another greedy mouthful, and his stomach cramped, warningly.  
“Don’t make yourself sick!” Charles snapped, sharply. Somehow, Erik found the strength to put the soup pot down before he vomited, instead of emptying it. He glared at Charles. What did he know of hunger?  
“I’m sorry.” Charles said, quietly. “But I’ve seen people make themselves ill, doing that.”

Rather than reply, Erik shouldered though the pantry door, and stopped, startled. Shelves lined the space, dutifully surrounding two chest-freezers. None of them rose above shoulder height- Erik started looking for the folding wheelchair- and every single shelf was packed tight with food. Canned food, dried food, pickles, preserves- it was like looking at a corner store, apart from the fact that a good deal of them looked homemade. Charles must be rich, to live here, have so much. Erik felt the soup churn in his gut.

He banged back out, and shoved the wheelchair in Charles’ direction.  
“There.” He said. “Medicine.” He added, a second later.   
“Of course.” Charles said, with a friendly, fearless smile. He opened the chair up, with the ease of long practice, and relocated himself. “There.” He said, pleased.  
“What?” Erik said, more than a little bemused by Charles’s continued lack of self preservation, or fear. Charles rolled himself to one of the cupboards, smoothly, and opened it.  
“Here.” Charles said, and pulled out a large biscuit tin. “Medicine.” He added, as Erik frowned.

“Here’s a couple of aspirin.” Charles said, wheeling himself back to the table. “Oh, and there a course of antibiotics- hope you’re not allergic- and, um, what else do you need?” Erik stared at him. “We can put together a useful pack, but-“ Slowly, Erik sank into a chair across the table and stared at him.  
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he said, slowly.  
“You said you didn’t- you weren’t going to hurt me.” Charles said, cheerfully. “Were you lying?”

“No.” Erik said, shortly. His head hurt. Maybe the soup had been poisoned.  
“Why should I be afraid of you, then?” Charles said, reasonably.  
“I’m robbing you.” Erik reminded him. Charles laughed. Erik jerked his head up from where it had sunk into his hands, and glared.  
“You’re not robbing me, if I give it willingly.” He said. “What should I call you?”   
“No names.” Erik mumbled to the tabletop. “Call me whatever you want.” He said, a little louder.

Charles’ eyes narrowed.  
“Take your pills, Erik.” he said, clearly. “Your temperature is rising. You should probably lie down.”  
“What did you call me?” Erik said, sharply. The soup hadn’t been poisoned, but- he coughed rackingly- it was getting harder to think.  
“Erik.” Charles said, almost innocently. “You said I could call you-“  
“Fine.” Erik said, and swallowed the pills dry. They tasted _awful_

“Juice is in the fridge.” Charles told him Erik nodded. Charles rolled over to it, extracted a jug, and filled a glass, as Erik stared, blearily. “Here.” He said, a moment later. Erik risked a sip.  
“Apple juice?” he said, slowly. Charles shrugged.  
“I prefer it to orange.” He said, serenely. “Now drink it; I think you’re dehydrated as well as half-starved and sick.”  
“I can look after myself!” Erik snapped. And drank the apple juice.

“Of course.” Charles said, busying himself at the stove top. “My apologies.” Erik put his head down on the table; he’d found food, and medicine, he’d just rest for a moment and then go back to running. He couldn’t risk staying in the area, not after-  
“Do think you could try and eat this?” Charles said softly, sometime later. Erik jerked his head up. A plate of scrambled eggs stared him in the face.  
“Yes.” He said, hoarsely, blinking. Charles handed him the knife and fork and rolled away to his own plate.

Erik managed to make himself eat more slowly. He used Charles’ eating as a pattern- when the other man took a mouthful, he did. It was much slower that way, but the eggs sat comfortably in his belly. Charles ate neatly, wiping his mouth on a napkin. Erik ignored his napkin- he wasn’t going to waste any food, not when he could simply lick his fingers instead. He found himself staring at Charles, though, watching his red, red lips re appear after the napkin whisked over them, like some magic trick. 

“My head really hurts.” Erik said, aloud, and then wondered why he’d said that.  
“You’re not well.” Charles murmured. “This way.” Erik staggered after him, almost blindly, unquestioning. He wondered where they were going. Faintly, Erik was aware that something was very wrong indeed, but he couldn’t quite think…  
“Spare bedroom.” Charles murmured, again. “You really do need to lie down, Erik.”  
“Sheets are clean. I’m not.” Erik pointed out. Charles made a scoffing noise.  
“Bugger the sheets. Clothes off, and lie down, Erik. You’re sick.”

A distant thread of fear rose then: slaves who were sick were sold, or worse. Erik knew he ought to be panicking, ought to be resisting, but- something seemed to catch at his fear, and ease it out of Erik’s mental grasp, gently. Quietly, he took off his clothes and folded himself into the softest, cleanest bed he had ever known.

“S’nice.” He informed Charles, fuzzily, and wriggled down a bit more. There was a rustling noise, and Erik opened his eyes to see Charles spreading a blanket over him. That was nice, too.  
“I want you to know that you are absolutely safe, here, Erik.” Charles said, quietly. He put his hand on Erik’s forehead. Normally, Erik didn’t like to be touched, not by freefolk, but Charles was…  
“You are safe.” Charles said, again, and Erik nodded, shutting his eyes. Charles was safe.

“Go to sleep, Erik.” Charles said, and Erik obeyed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles does a lot of ~~info-dumping~~ thinking, while watching over Erik.

Charles sat by Erik's sickbed and pondered. Tactically, he knew, he should not have allowed the escaped slave to stay. Isolated and tech-free the house might be, but even so, the authorities would likely be looking for him. A casual search wouldn't find the ex-slave, but a dedicated one might. Certainly his wealth and status meant Charles was unlikely to suffer serious consequences, if they did find Erik hiding here- an epic fine, perhaps but Charles had paid those before. However a serious search could easily bring to light other things Charles would not want known. Erik muttered, fever making his sleep restless. 

Charles lightly soothed his dreams back into sweet ones. His illness wasn't serious; nothing food and rest and care could not alleviate.  
“Could hardly send you back out like this, though.” he said, aloud. Erik didn't reply. When Charles, dazed from Cain's friends little “conversation”, had detected another mind watching the house, he'd been quite ready to puppet the man into coming into the house, and helping Charles, regardless of that mind's intentions. A little searching, though had revealed the mind to belong to a desperate and hungry escaped slave. Charles had barely had to nudge him in the right direction.

He hadn't been expecting his hoped for helper to be so tall, though, or so desperate yet restrained. Charles had, in his adventurous life, met many desperate people, before and after his accident. Erik had not wanted to harm him; beyond what was necessary to get him what he needed. The thought of killing Charles, to ensure Erik's escape, had not crossed his mind; and Charles was sure that was only partly due to his own attempts at self preservation. He looked down at Erik again. 

Even now, half-starved and flushed with fever, the man was handsome., under the gingery beard scruff and the wear and tear that came from living rough and wild. How would he look fed and clean, well dressed and shaved? His eyes had been bright with desperation and illness, but they had been a beautiful green-grey before they had closed in exhaustion.  
“Water...” a husky voice whispered hoarsely.  
Charles blinked, and shook himself out of his thoughts. Erik was thirsty. Was awake, and asking for water. He reached for the carafe and poured out a glass. 

“Water...” Erik croaked again. He licked his fever-cracked lips. Charles slid a hand under the back of his head and held the glass to his mouth.  
“Here.” he said quietly. Erik drank, in jerky gasping gulps. His eyes flickered open.  
“Where...?”  
“You're safe.” Charles said, and underlined his spoken words with a strong mental reassurance. Erik blinked, relaxing slowly. He was still thirsty, so Charles refilled the glass and helped him drink again.  
“Don't know you.” Erik said, vaguely. Charles made no verbal reply. He whispered to Erik telepathically, instead. 

_-You are safe here, my friend-_ Erik's eyelids drooped shut again. 

Quietly, he put the glass back on the night stand as Erik slipped back into sleep. Charles went back to staring at the sick man and pondering how best to help him. He was fairly sure as soon as Erik regained enough strength to know where he was and what was going on, he'd want to flee again. But so weak, so sick, he likely wouldn't get far before being apprehended. And quite apart from Charles' own disinclination to let that happen for Erik's sake, he also had to consider his own interests. Convincing Erik to stay would be difficult.

Charles needed to keep the Westchester house as tech free as was possible. Let one escaped slave be rounded up near here, and all the neighbourhood would likely go into a twittering panic about being murdered in their very luxurious beds; and insist on patrols or fences or sensors and security companies. He would have to go along. As long as they felt safe; they'd prefer the privacy that came with lower forms of protection, so they could go on committing their minor social or financial sins without any fear of uncomfortable consequences. But only as long as they felt safe.

They thought Charles preferred his privacy for the same reasons, too., too. Charles grimaced ruefully at his un powered wheelchair. As big a set back, as hard as losing his legs had been, it did provide the most perfect cover for being a recluse. No one forced him to try and engage in a society he had long since considered both corrupt and corrupting, not now he was himself less than perfect. No one wanted to see his wounded self out and about; and so they were all secretly relieved that Charles kept himself out of sight; talking on the phone or computer with visual screens blocked or deactivated, preferring letters to Skype. Far less embarrassing for all concerned, that way.

Erik stirred, bad dreams and fever making him restless, and Charles shook himself, ashamed of having given way to bitterness when this man had suffered far worse and for far longer than anything Charles had been through. His role as advisor- and financial backer to the Jubilee organisation had given Charles far too many nightmare stories for him to be self pitying. Jubilee, INC was a straightforward enough organisation, on the surface of things. They bought children, who came onto the open market through no fault of their own, and provided them with safe places to learn and grow. Publically, that was all they did. Behind the scenes, was another matter.

Jubilee continued to lobby for the restriction of slavery by age, if nothing else. Of course, they might be suspected abolitionists, but if they only focused on slave-children, they could keep the centres open and the campaigns going. Sentimentality was a wonderful cover, and Jubilee's children would never be free; but they would be legally protected and safe. Most members of the public didn't find that too upsetting, and the government did not find it enough of a threat to take steps. Yet. Absently, Charles made a note; as soon as he could get confirmation of Erik's identity, he'd need to begin the very tricky - and expensive- process of faking up a freeperson's papers and background for Erik. 

He'd need them, if- when he left the house. 

A faint pang shot through Charles at the thought, of Erik leaving. He shook his head.  
“What _is_ wrong with me?” he said, aloud. Maybe I've been alone too long Charles thought, as he soothed Erik's nightmare- something about hunger, about being trapped and hurt- into gentler, healing sleep. As useful as being able to hide away in his old house was; preserving a safe place for all kinds of strays, from documents to banned tech to people, he had to remember he owed Jubilee more than that. 

Owed himself more than that, too. Cain's little friends had been visiting for a reason. Money. Cain thought Charles owed him money. Cain had never been able to understand that Charles had inherited what he had of the estate because his mother had been unable to alter his father's will when she remarried after his death. Cain had inherited enough from his father, but somehow, the knowledge of the Xavier millions had led him to expect a share of them.  
“He's no rights.” Charles aid aloud again, and looked guiltily at Erik, who didn't stir. It was true. Cain Marko had no rights to any of the Xavier estate.

Since his... accident, Cain had, on the surface of things, been solicitous in the extreme. He had visited his poor crippled stepbrother in hospital, in rehab, and seemed extremely interested in his well being. Only Charles knew it was because he hoped to claim guardianship over Charles' wealth, if he was judged unfit to look after himself. Never mind that Charles' will was all in order, and he had nominated his own guardians should he be unable to look after himself. Cain firmly believed his status as Charles' stepbrother trumped everything else.

So far that hadn't happened; but Charles knew, with his views on slavery, and other aspects of society, it would be much easier for Cain to claim the accident had broken Charles' brain, and take over “managing” his accounts and life. For a great many reasons, Charles was not about to lte that happen; and so he'd withdrawn further from society; kept himself to himself in the eyes of the world, keeping the family home tech and thus surveillance free. 

Now, it seemed, Cain was willing to up the ante, to make sure Charles couldn't cope on his own. And he knew at least a little about Charles' telepathy, or he;d never have sent Victor, who was almost immune to it, along, to make threats. At least they'd tipped him out of his powered chair before breaking it. And they hadn't known about the old-fashioned self-propelled wheelchair Charles had kept just in case. It would have taken him a long time to get to it unaided, though.

“Just as well you were here.” he said to the still sleeping man. “I'd have been in a bit of a pickle, otherwise.” Charles shifted in his wheelchair, and wondered if he could risk leaving Erik alone long enough to attend to some of his own needs. Everything always took so _long_ without his powered chair. He'd have to get hold of Hank and Tony again, see if they would make him a new one quickly. They'd ask questions, of course- but Charles hoped he could distract them from finding out precisely how he'd damaged the old one.  
“Who-” Charles tensed at the rasp in the voice. “Are you?” He turned back to the bed, 

Erik was glaring at him, tense and wary as any trapped wild animal.  
“Oh, you're awake.” He said, to gain time. Erik glared more fiercely. “My name is Charles Xavier, and you are not-”  
“You're not a slave.” Erik said. Charles nodded. Erik seemed to consider something. “I'm not sucking your cock.” he announced, finally, eyes glittering in fever and anger.  
“ I... don't think I asked you to?” Charles said, carefully. Erik struggled up on one arm. Charles leaned forwards and shoved the pillows behind his back. Erik flinched back, puzzled.

“You're an owner.” Erik said, harshly. “None of you bastards ever _ask_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well?” Charles said, patiently. “Will you stay?”  
> “Will you feed me if I don't stay?” Erik offered up a twisted grin.
> 
> “Of course.” Charles said, as if the answer was simple. “But, will you?”
> 
> Erik is suspicious. Also, a little ableist, in his speech and thoughts about Charles.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shored up his telepathic barriers. He could hardly blame the man for his suspicions, but his fear and mistrust were painful at such close quarters.   
“Rest assured, my friend, I will neither be asking nor forcing you to, as you put it, suck my cock.”  
“I'm not your friend.” Erik snapped. “Why not?” He squinted at Charles' wheelchair. “Doesn't it work, any more, or something?”  
“Perhaps you're just not my type.” Charles bit back. He regretted it until Erik gave a raspy laugh.

“That just breaks my heart.” He struggled up out of the bed. Charles briefly regretted having re-dressed the other man while he was unconscious. Fleeing would be easier for Erik now he was clothed. Erik stood, swaying, before taking a determined step and then another towards the door.  
“What are you doing?” Charles asked, incredulous, wheeling after him.  
“Leaving.” Erik gasped, staggering. “Don't... don't think of stopping me.”  
“I won't have to, you're going to fall over in about thirty seconds.” Charles said.m wheeling towards him. Erik glared.  
“Not... I'm not letting them re take me without a fight.” He stumbled again.

“Why let them re take you at all?” Charles said, crisply. Erik reached out and leant against the wheelchair. “Careful, you'll have us both on the floor in a minute.” Charles twisted to look Erik in the face. He was paper white, dripping with sweat and very clearly heading for the floor very soon. Charles racked his brains. He couldn't physically keep the other man here, and he really didn't want to force him to, telepathically. That would likely only work until Charles himself passed out, and at that point Erik would probably try and cut his throat before fleeing.

“What are you talking about?” Erik couldn't breathe properly. He couldn't think.. He stared down at himself. His old clothes were gone, when had that happened? Why had the other man bothered with fresh clothes, when-? Erik gave up on the idea of demanding food or medicines. He wouldn't be ale to carry them now, anyway,. If he couldn't live free, he was damned if he was going to die a slave. Not when he'd been close, so close to getting away. The floor rippled under his bare feet. He had to get out of here, away from this comfortable bed and this strange man who wasn't afraid of him and Would. Not. Stop. Talking

“If you leave now, assuming you manage to make it out of the house and off the grounds without collapsing and dying.” Charles said, patiently, trying to prevent Erik's weight from tipping the chair. “You know that the police, or the authorities will spot you as soon as you collapse again, and you know you're going to, sick as you are. And then they'll likely euthanise you, or sell you off to the nearest bidder, unless you die before they can put the needle in.”  
“Why should you care?” Erik all but snarled, and took another step towards the door.

“Can you simply accept there's a possibility that I do?” Charles said, quietly.

“Hell no.” Erik said. “Especially if you don't even want your cock sucked. I'm told I good at it.” he added, helpfully. “My chip probably still has all the feedback on it.”  
“I have this odd fetish- a quality I require from all my sexual partners.” Charles said, absently. Erik stared. “Informed and enthusiastic consent.” Erik stared some more. “Look.” Charles said, slowly. “I live here alone, because I prefer it. Even when it's not as safe.”  
“So?” What did Erik care about the life of one crazy owner, more or less? What was this Charles, Charles Xavier, to him?  
“But, the fact remains, that my legs don't work.” Charles said, reluctantly. 

“Like your cock?” Erik snarked. He tensed, but the other man didn't sputter or try and hit or hurt him, exactly as he had not the other times Erik had mouthed off to him. Weird.  
“Leaving the functional capacity of my genitals out of the matter, right now, living alone is problematic for me.” Charles said, emotionlessly. “At least until I can get my powered chair repaired.”  
“And I care why?” There was an odd ringing sound in Erik's ears now. He shook his head.  
“Stay here. Get better. Help me, just until my new chair arrives, and I swear, I _swear_ I'll help you stay free.” Charles gazed at him, sincerity burning in his blue, blue eyes.

Erik swayed, transfixed by that gaze. He swallowed, painfully. He caught himself wishing that it were true. That Charles was what he seemed. He thrust the idea away. Hope was dangerous. Trusting in others was worse.  
“You expect me to believe you'd do that? For a complete stranger, a slave?” He knew he sounded incredulous.  
“I _was_ doing that, until you woke up and decided to try and make a break for it again.” Charles said. “Yes.” He replied in answer to Erik's stunned gaze. “You've been out cold for about seven hours; I could just as easily- more easily, in fact- have alerted the authorities as got you into bed and taken care of.”

“You're crazy.” Erik said, flatly. “Helping an escaped slave? Who do you think you are, _Jubilee?_ Heroes don't exist- and that goes double for slaves.”  
“I'm a supporter of the organisation.” Charles said, cautiously. He wheeled his chair back towards the bed. Erik followed him, snorting.  
“Not that fake feel good crap organisation that cares _so much_ for the kiddies.” he said, bitter. He sat back down on the bed, wearily.   
“I don't understand.” Charles said, slowly. Even the slaves who only knew what the free public thought Jubilee did generally tended to approve of it.

“Never mind” Erik said. “Jubilee's just another myth, like freedom, like, like-” he faltered.  
“Like help?” Charles murmured. “Like friends?” Erik gazed at him, exhausted and resigned.  
“Like a lot of things.”  
“Well.” Charles said. “If you won;t believe in someone offering help for no reason-”  
“I don't.”  
“How about this: I'll help you with your problems if you help me with mine.”  
“Thought you said it didn't-  
“ _Not_ sexually, good god.” Charles snapped, irritated, and was surprised to see a faint grin flicker across Erik's face. 

“I meant, you get better, and give me a hand about the place until my powered chair gets here.” Erik tilted his head. His eyes narrowed as he cudgeled his feverish brain into working.  
“What kind of help?” he asked, finally.  
“High shelves.” Charles snapped. “Steps. That kind of thing, mostly.”  
“Mostly.” Erik repeated, skeptical. He gave Charles a steady flat look.  
“Also, some of my... associates, don't think I can manage without a companion. If you're willing to let them assume that about you, should I need you to, then I can skip the arguments about living out here alone, for a few months, anyway.”

“You value your freedom from nagging family that much?” Erik said, slowly. He remembered, suddenly, how they'd met. Charles had been crawling away from a wrecked wheelchair, nearly helpless. Erik supposed he might want a hand, another presence about, at least just to make sure the two visitors didn't come back.  
“They're not my family.” Charles said. “And yes, I value freedom- all freedom, not just mine- that much.”  
“Huh.” Erik said. He ran his fingers-washed, he noticed, and shivered- through his hair, and thought some more. Charles sat there, patiently.

Charles needed a wheelchair to get about. Why didn't he have a body slave or three? The house was large enough, so he probably had the money, except- The wheelchair. This lonely location, so far from the authorities. Probably he was afraid of being too dependent on slaves, slaves who could turn on their disabled owner like savage animals, unless they were controlled, punished, kept on a leash-   
“Are you all right, Erik? You're shivering.” Charles leaned forwards. The concern in his face and voice seemed to be entirely genuine.

“I'm fine.” he said, hoarsely. Charles raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was time to sweeten the pot.  
“I have a friend who is fairly smart about tracking tech. You've obviously disabled your chip, somehow.” Erik glared. “I'm not asking how!” Charles said, hastily. “But he could probably get it out of your body.”  
“Without it killing or-”  
“Or paralyzing you, yes.” Charles said. “Obviously.”  
“He must be a very good friend.” Erik said. “You know how long he'd get, if they caught him?”  
“A very short time indeed, Tony tells me. The death penalty being what it is, these days.” Charles sighed.

“Oh.” Erik said. “He'd risk his life, on your say so?” He found it oddly easy to believe. Charles was very convincing, when he wanted to be. The question was, would he want to be convincing on Erik's behalf?  
“He really, _really_ doesn't like slave-controlling technology.” Charles said, shortly. “Are you hungry again?” His attempt at redirecting the conversation was not subtle, but a gurgle from Erik's stomach answered for him.  
“Well?” Charles said, patiently. “Will you stay?”  
“Will you feed me if I don't stay?” Erik offered up a twisted grin.

“Of course.” Charles said, as if the answer was simple. “But, will you?”


End file.
